


Sword

by sunday5



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunday5/pseuds/sunday5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after Jaime's last chapter in ADWD.  I don't know why I wrote this on the last day of the year, but it is fittingly final. You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword

Jaime followed Brienne through the black trees. She was mounted on Hoster's borrowed gelding, and its silver tail stood out in the night shadows cast by the branches. They'd left the burned lands of the village Pennytree behind hours ago, and it was quiet out here. Just the muted clop of their horse's hooves on the grassy path, the jingle of Honor's bridle. The air was chill and Jaime could see his breath hang in front of him.

It was well past midnight, the half-moon high in the sky. A day's ride, the wench had said. Or a night's, he guessed. But since then Brienne hadn't spoken. He'd given her the time to talk when she was ready, but so far she hadn't taken it. Nor had she looked at him. Jaime's patience was running out, and he tapped his horse with his heels and rode up alongside, meaning to ask more about their destination.

But as he drew level, Brienne reined her gelding in. Jaime halted just in front of her and frowned.

'Why are we stopping here?'

'This is as far as we need to go.' Brienne's voice was flat. Her gaze desolate.

Jaime eyed her warily. He'd noticed the wounds to her face and neck earlier, but she hadn't cared to enlighten him about them, either.

'Dismount. We won't need the horses,' she told him. His skin prickled. 'Is the girl nearby?' he asked, in a conversational tone. But he already knew there was no girl.

Brienne didn't answer. She waited, mute, as he tied Honor to the branch of a sturdy oak tree, and then turned and led the way through a copse of trees without looking back. Jaime knew he didn't have to follow her, but he did. Of course he did. He couldn't leave her. She'd brought him here for a reason and whatever it was they were in it together.

In a low-lying clearing, the marsh squelching under their boots, she turned back to face him. He was disappointed but not surprised when she drew Oathkeeper from its scabbard.

'You've chosen a curious place for our secret rendezvous, my lady,' Jaime said, glancing at the boggy ground. 'Would it not have been more pleasant to steal a kiss from me under the oak tree?'

'I mean to kill you not kiss you,' she said, in that bleak voice. 'I didn't think the setting mattered.'

Jaime sighed. 'I thought as much. And to what do I owe the honour?'

'To save the lives of innocents, ' Brienne rasped, harshly. She sounded as if she were in pain. 'I never wanted this, would never have chosen it, but... it's your death or theirs. Do not ask me more.'

'Well, I am most definitely not an innocent,' Jaime agreed. 'And so I see your dilemma. It just... seems a little sudden.'

'Do not ask me more! Draw your sword!' she demanded.

'And if I don't?'

'Draw. Your. Sword' she ground out.  _Stubborn bloody wench._

He did as she bid. The weight of it in his left hand was no longer unfamiliar, after the hours, days, and weeks practise with Illyn. But he remembered his last fight with Brienne, when he was two-handed, and her steady, unyielding, resistance. She hadn't tried to attack him then, but her defence had been impenetrable. It had been like trying to wear down a tree.

_If she really intends to kill me then it's as good as done. I may as well drop my weapon now and get it over with._

But she wanted him to fight. So he would. He would give her that.

'I fear I may not provide you with much of a contest,' he said, cheerfully.

'Your life is at stake. You will,' she said through gritted teeth.

'Why should I put up a fight to make this easier for you?'

'Kill me or I will kill you.'

'I don't think you -'

The flash of her sword whirling down interrupted him, and without conscious thought Jaime reacted, blocking it with his own blade. She withdrew and slashed again in a fierce arc, and again he met her with a ringing clash of steel on steel. They broke apart, their breath quickening.

Brienne crouched a little, moving around him. Her sword held out in front of her, unwavering. Jaime spun his, and the blade glittered in the moonlight.

'If we must dance again, my lady, then so be it,' he said. His heart beat faster and he felt strangely excited.  _Death in the heat of battle rarely hurts. At least I'll go out with a sword in hand, a friend by my side._ It was a sad indication of his friendships that even as she tried to slay him, Jaime considered her a truer friend than any other.

 _She could have slit my throat as my back was turned to tie up my horse, as I did King Aerys._ But Brienne was not him and never would be.

She lunged suddenly and Jaime pivoted, barely managing to deflect her blow. He matched her next swing with crossed swords, parried her high strike, anticipated her repeating the exact action again and caught her upswing, but she was quicker. The half-second longer it took him to meet her blade gave her the advantage. His sword was caught too close to his body. He used his strength to press her back, keeping his weight forward. Her face was inches from his, their breathing ragged together. Almost a rhythm, almost a song.

He wondered how long he could keep up, with his left hand. No matter how much he'd improved with it.  _Her heart isn't in this,_ he realised,  _or she'd have bested me already by now._

Abruptly Brienne stepped aside and the swiftness of her next thrust had Jaime in awe, he barely twisted away in time and even so, the movement made him stumble. He felt a slight twinge as her blade nicked his side. 'Careful, that was close,' he laughed, breathless.

He steadied with a counter-strike, an obvious move he'd rehearsed with Illyn many times and the standard of green squires the world over. But unexpectedly, her sword wasn't there to match his. Instead of the jar of steel he felt the ease of an unimpeded swing, and then the dull smack of flesh.

Jaime yanked his sword back, fearful.

'I thought we were dancing, woman!' he said, concern catching in his breath. Her blood shining the length of his blade made him dizzy. 'Have you forgotten the moves?'

Brienne swayed, slumped. Her hand went to her chest, to where Jaime's sword had drawn a thick red line along her collarbones, near the base of her throat. 'I can't do this,' she whispered. Her fingers loosed from Oathkeeper and it fell to the ground.

'Pick up the godsdamn sword, woman,' Jaime growled. 'I didn't hit you that hard.'

She shook her head, stubborn.

'Pick it up and fight! Kill me or I'll kill you, remember?'

'I thought I could but I can't,' she said, in a voice as tired as he'd ever heard.

'Fuck.'

They stood there, not moving, Jaime with sword still in hand, Brienne with head bowed. After a while she sagged and sat down.

'I figured you were going easy on me. You fought like a girl,' he said. Trying to conceal the sickness that surged in his gut.

She nodded, leaning heavily on one arm in the wet dark mud. Still with the other hand pressed to her chest.

Jaime felt a sharp pang deep inside at the sight of the blood welling between her fingers. The fat drops ran down to soak her tunic and leaked off the hem of it into the dirt.

'Let's rest a while,' he suggested. 'Get our breaths.'

She nodded again. Minutes passed. There was no breeze and the crisp air was quite pleasant. Their slowing breaths clouded in the air. Around them, a circle of red widened.

'You know, you really should staunch that cut,' he said. 'It's bleeding like fuck.'

'You can talk,' she said, a sad smile playing on her lips. She gestured with a bloodied hand to his side. Jaime looked down.

There was a spreading stain in his tunic, the gash in the centre of it pulsing like an underground spring. The water bubbling up through the crack of himself was bright bright red, and he saw then that the pool of blood gathered around their feet was half his.

In his mind, he rewound to the near-miss that had nicked his skin _. I should have known. In the heat of battle it rarely hurts._ He shook his head admiringly, as his senses spun.

'Wench,' he said, with a weak grin. 'That was a good hit.'

She said nothing, and there was a long, companionable silence. The sky had begun to lighten at the approaching dawn, and somewhere nearby a bird twittered. Brienne's blood trickled and plipped. Jaime was down beside her in the mud, couldn't remember sitting. His woollen breeches felt sticky and it was hard to move.

He wiped his hand along the sodden material. 'If I'd known I was going to die tonight I would have changed out of my night clothes.'

'Men like you don't die so easy.' Brienne shrugged, dismissive. 'You'll live to fight another day.'

They sat in silence a while longer. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time ran thick like molasses down a knife. All Jaime knew was that the tendrils of pink sunrise climbed higher in the sky and an incandescent glow had appeared above the hills.

'Well, it's another day,' Jaime observed. 'And I'm alive. Somewhat. I'm not sure I'm up to much fighting, though.' He would have chuckled, but it seemed rather too much effort.

Brienne turned her head to face the sun. 'You talk too much,' she sighed.

Time spun its slow web and Jaime's thoughts spiralled inwards.  _I don't feel like I'm dying. But probably no-one does. The same way we don't know that we're falling asleep until we wake up._

Now the sun had crested the hills. It was going to be a bright autumn day, he thought. His breath still hung in the air, but he felt warm. Curious. He looked across at Brienne's face and saw it had gone pale as the frost in the shade, and her skin had a sheen across it. Jaime didn't recognise dying in himself but he could in others. He'd seen it enough times to know.

All around him sound had faded, like a blanket thrown over them. Brienne's face was cold white, a red smear like blush across the cheek, and it made her eyes shine brighter than ever. Everything seemed distant, except her eyes that stretched open and wide as the sky, endlessly blue.

Even as death crept across and stole the colour from her, those eyes refused to dim.

Jaime wanted to tell her he was proud of her, but seeing as it was impossible to talk right then, he just laid his sword in between them on the ground.

'I yield,' he meant to say, but what actual words came out he couldn't be altogether sure. His arm felt weak as grass but he managed to nudge his sword towards her, so she'd know that in the end, she'd won. With a great effort, he lifted his too-heavy head to her face. He wanted to see a last smile on it. He wanted her to live long enough to accept his yield, but of course the stubborn wench wouldn't even give him that.


End file.
